Rise of the Defender (20 page)

     “And what is that?” she demanded, thinking
it was mayhap something even more auspicious than the titles she already knew
of.

     “Lion’s Claw,” he turned to watch his
destrier being brought forth. “Saladin’s men called me the Lion’s Claw.”

     She gazed at him, her irritation fading. “Why?”

     His attention went back to her, and he
found himself drawn to the pretty style in which her hair was arranged. A bit
careless, but pretty nonetheless.

     “Everyone knows how powerful a lion is, but
even a lion is limited without his claws,” he said. “The Saracen’s believed
Richard to be the force, the power if you will, yet I was his most deadly
weapon. His claws.”

     This knowledge brought new respect to the
man, in her eyes. She stared back at him as she absorbed the information, her
mind completely overwhelmed with the knowledge. This man, whom she had struck,
yelled at, baited, and struggled with at every opportunity was nearly the most
powerful man in the kingdom.

     Along with the new awareness came a new set
of worries. No wonder he didn’t want to marry her; a mere baron's daughter, she
was not worthy of him in the least. The Defender of the Realm should have a
refined, worldly wife, not a naive little waif with a bad temper and a stubborn
streak. She struggled with insecurities she never knew she had, confused and
overcome as she was, wondering why the man had even lowered himself to speak
with her much less marry her. She felt self-conscious and unworthy to even be
near him.

     “Did you want Lioncross so badly?” she
murmured as he loaded the items onto his charger.

     He glanced at her. “What did you say?”

     She just stared back at him, not sure if
she wanted to repeat herself, unsure as to why she said it in the first place.
But she suddenly knew one thing - she could not go to London and embarrass him.
When the prince and his fine court people saw the champion’s new bride, it
would surely make him the laughing stock of London.  She could not do that to
him.

     “Nothing,” she was backing away. “I….I
mean, I forgot something. You go on head; you do not need me.”

     She turned and bolted for the castle,
hearing him shout her name but not stopping for one moment to respond. Once
inside, she raced through the great hall, into the kitchens, and out through
the back door and into the small kitchen yard that contained the buttery and
the cold house.

     There was a small, fortified gate in the
wall. She yanked it open, slamming it behind her as she continued to tear out
into the soft green countryside. Her legs pumped and her heart pounded, and
tears of bitterness streamed down her face. She didn’t know why she was so
upset, but she was. For her and for him. The marriage was a disaster from the
very beginning and it would only get worse.

     She raced down a small incline and into a
bank of trees, coming through on the other side and on into another dense bank
of trees. She ran and ran until she could run no more, until her muscles burned
and she had to stop or she would collapse.

     There was a small pond to her right. She
veered for it drunkenly, sobs rising in her throat until she finally flopped
down into the soft, cool grass, crying her heart out for so many reasons. She
could not stop to grasp just one.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

     Christopher had followed her into the
castle, being informed by a serving wench that she had passed through the
kitchens and had run out the back. Racing back out to his destrier, he mounted
the animal and tore from the gates, reining around the side of his fortress
until he came to the small tunnel that led from the fortified gate. A glance in
the distance showed his wife running like the wind, disappearing into a heavy
grove of trees.

     She was not difficult to follow, but he
made sure she did not know he was behind her. When she finally collapsed in a
heap at the edge of a small lake, he kept his horse shrouded in the dense brush
until he was sure she wasn’t going to take off running again. Slowly and
quietly, he dismounted and made his way over to her.

     She was sobbing as if her heart was broken
and he stood there for a long while, watching her and wondering what had upset
her so. He knew she was surprised with the information that he was the king’s
champion, but he could not imagine that it would drive her to tears.

     He should have simply let her go, but for
some reason he could not. He had to know what was upsetting her.

     “Dustin,” he whispered.

     Her
head came up like a shot, her gray eyes wet with tears. “What…?”she gasped.
“What are you doing here?”

     “I
followed you,” he said softly, obviously. “Why are you crying?”

     She pushed herself up into a sitting
position, facing the lake, deeply ashamed. “You wouldn't understand, my lord,”
she said hoarsely.

     She heard his armor creaking as he came and
stood next to her, finally sitting slowly. She kept her eyes riveted to the
water, now shades of orange and yellow from the setting sun. It was peaceful and
serene, and the bugs were beginning to buzz about as night drew near.

     “Would you tell me even if I would not
understand?” he asked finally, his voice soft.

     His tone disarmed her and she fought to
maintain her control. When he was gentle like that, she could feel all of her
self-protection dissolve.  She was terrified to give in to the feelings he
provoked.

     “I am a silly girl, my lord,” she said
after a moment. “It matters not why I cry. I cry all the time, mostly for foolish
reasons. I am sorry you felt you had to follow me.”

     He was gazing across the water as well, listening
to the deep gulp of the bullfrogs. “I followed you because you are my wife and because
I wanted to make sure you came to no harm,” he said, then slowly turning his
head to look at her. “And you are not a girl. You are a woman, and a beautiful
one at that.”

     Shivers shot up her spine at his seductive
tone and her chest throbbed with a curious dull ache. Why did he say such
things when they simply weren’t true? He had Lioncross, why did he still feel
the need to speak sweet words to her? She stood up, wiping her eyes

     “Do not say those things to me.” she
snapped. “I do not want to hear them.”

     He watched her stiff back as she paced away
from him. “Say what? That you are beautiful? ‘Tis the truth, and I speak it.”

     She turned swiftly, her eyes flashing. “You
do not have to say them anymore,” she said. “Lioncross is yours and there is
nothing to gain by flattery. I hate it when you say such things because I want
to believe them.”

     Her voice suddenly trailed off to a
strangled whisper and she whirled back around, appalled at what she had said.
Her cheeks were flushing brightly, she knew it, and she wished the ground would
open up and swallow her.

     But it was an eye-opening statement. Christopher
understood a great deal in that outburst. As beautiful as Dustin was, she
didn’t know it. That was why she chased off suitors and men with honeyed words.
She didn’t believe herself to be the least bit attractive, and she thought the
men were liars because she knew Lioncross to be the real prize. Fact was,
Christopher wasn’t so sure Lioncross was the real prize anymore.

     He stood up. “Dustin, listen to me,” he
said softly. “I never say anything that I do not mean. You are beautiful, and I
have seen a great many women enough to know that. And I do not flatter, for I
am not a charming man and I do not enjoy trivial romantic games. Look at me
now.”

     It took a few moments, but she reluctantly
complied and he could see that her cheeks were a pretty shade of pink. She
looked completely miserable and it touched him.

     “Lioncross is indeed mine, but so are you,”
he went on, softly. “’Tis true, I married you to gain the Fortress, but over
the past few days I have come to acquaint myself with a remarkable woman whom I
should like to know better, I think.”

     The setting sun behind him gave him an
ethereal-like quality. Dustin sighed and lowered her gaze, inexplicably feeling
the need to tell him her thoughts. She tried to control her mouth, to think of
a smooth and believable explanation as to her actions, but she could not. She
finally gave up.

     “Do you want to know why I was crying?” she
said quietly. “’Twas because I feel myself unworthy to be the Defender of the
Realm’s wife. I am unworldly, unmannered, unsophisticated and unrefined. Now
you would take me to London with you and I will do naught but embarrass you. I
know nothing of court.”

     His face turned hard. “Unless you are
planning a temper tantrum in the middle of the audience chamber, think not that
you could ever embarrass me,” he said pointedly. “In fact, I will be the envy
of every man there because I have the most beautiful wife in the country. As
for those other qualities you mentioned, you are nothing of the kind, and if I
thought you unworthy of me I would have annulled the marriage by now. No
fortress would be worth the grief you mentioned.”

     She gazed up at him as he approached. “I
want to believe you, my lord, I do. But I cannot, not when I know how silly I
am.”

     His hand caught her under the chin, forcing
her to meet his eyes. “Naive, yes, but you are not silly,” he said firmly. “I
would never lie to you, Dustin. You will believe me.”

     She wanted to but she could not, at least
not at this moment. She was still far too unsure of herself and still unsteady
with the entire situation. “I shall try,” she whispered.

     The hand that was on her face began to
caress her skin, timidly moving up her jaw until it reached her cheek. She could
feel the warmth radiating down her neck, jolting though her spine, turning her
limbs to mush.

     “Your hand is as big as my head,” she giggled,
her warm feelings bringing foolish words to her lips.

     As if to see her point, he brought up his
other hand and effectively captured her whole head in his grasp. They grinned
at each other.

     “You are right,” he said. “You fit most
nicely in my hands.” Christ, he wanted to kiss her, but he remembered his vow
and it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. If she wanted affection in
the marriage, then she would have to establish it. He dropped his hands from
her head, but his vow did not prevent him from holding her hand in his.

     “Come, it grows late,” he said, leading her
back to his horse. “We shall seek out your friend tomorrow.”

     “Then you still want me to go?” she asked.

     “Of course, Dustin,” he said, reaching the
animal. “I want you with me. You are my wife.”

     He lifted her up and sat her on the saddle
and she winced, shifting on her sore bottom. He grinned. “Still hurting?”

     “Aye,” she said, eyeing him. “And do not
look so pleased with yourself.”

     He mounted behind her. “You caused your own
grief, my lady.”

     She made a wry face as he reined his horse
around. “I shall be smarter next time. Or faster.”

     Grinning, he held her close to him the
entire, leisurely ride back to the keep.

***

     Later than night, it was well after
midnight when Christopher heard the door to his room open quietly. Immediately
alert yet remaining still, his right hand felt for the hilt of his sword and
gripped it tightly, listening to careful footfalls crossing the floor, coming
closer.

     The footsteps stopped a moment, he guessed
a few feet from his bed and then commenced once more, again very carefully,
walking around the side of the bed. His eyes were mostly closed but he could
see the figure in the dark as it rounded the bed and drew close to him. It was
difficult to make out anything at all in the darkness of the room, and the
muscles in his arm contracted as he prepared to strike.

     Suddenly there were hands reaching down at
him and he was forced into action, bringing up his sword with lightning speed
to ward of his attacker.

     Christopher was skilled, so skilled in fact
that he purposely turned the blade flat side out to simply knock his accoster
away as opposed to flat-out killing him. Had he turned the sword a quarter inch
more and lashed out with the sharp edge, he would have cut the intruder’s head
off.

     There was a cry as the shadow went slamming
back onto the floor, knocking over a small table in the process. Christopher
was up in an instant, but it was not to protect himself; he recognized the yelp.
Dropping his sword, he reached down for the small figure.

     “Christ in Heaven, Dustin,” he breathed,
pulling her up against his chest and trying to soothe her. She was crying from
fear and shock. “What are you doing here?”